


At Night

by Saetha



Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [29]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (just a little), Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FebuWhump2021, Fluff, M/M, Marchfluff, Nightmares, Papa Vesemir, Soft Witchers (The Witcher), Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Witcher cuddle pile, cuddlepile, no beta we die like nighttime sadness when kissed away by the sun, or is it...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: “Let’s not talk of death, old man.” Eskel reaches out and pats Vesemir’s knee. “You’re still here, and so are we, that’s all that counts.” There’s an echo of the nightmare caught at the back of his throat, the metallic taste of blood and loss.“Indeed,” Geralt agrees. He shifts so that he is curled up against Eskel, their bodies still fitting together like lock and key, like they have always done.*Geralt and Eskel can’t sleep. Turns out, neither can the rest of the Wolf family, and so they all seek and find comfort with each other.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138178
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	At Night

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I felt sort of bad for all the angst I inflicted on everyone this months, so I decided that a little bonus fic full of fluff and soft things might be in order. Thus - this little piece, basically an excuse to write a full-on Witcher cuddle pile :). 
> 
> Also, remind me to never write 112k of fanfic in 11 fandoms in less than 50 days ever again (until I retire, at least). ʘ‿ʘ

Eskel wakes up with a scream lodged in his throat. He doesn’t remember the contents of his nightmare clearly – something about the Trials, about dimeritium shackles on his wrists, a knife on his face, of blood pooling in his throat on a cold stone floor, of Geralt’s broken bones under his fingers – but it has left a terrible taste inside his mouth, metallic and rotten. His mind is roiling, trying to sort through the emotions, picking out what was nightmare, what was memory and what was just the shadow the demons in his own head. He takes a deep breath, forces his body to relax like it does when he enters a meditative state. 

“Eskel?” Geralt’s voice is quiet beside him, scratchy and rough.

“Hm.” He doesn’t trust himself to answer yet, not when the screams are still stuck in his chest somewhere and his thoughts a confusing mass of panic and pain.

“Nightmare?” Geralt asks and Eskel reaches out to find his hand with his, drawing a sign in palm. _Yes_. Geralt lets out a deep breath through his nose, fingers intertwining with Eskel’s.

“Same here,” he says. “I dreamed of the dead children. Of dimeritium. Of you, never coming home from the Path.” He shudders, fingers squeezing more tightly. Eskel squeezes back. He moves his body a little, until his back is pressed Geralt’s chest and Geralt hums, wrapping his arms around him. Eskel is the bigger of the two, but he has always felt safest like this, with Geralt’s arms around him, all their warmth caught between them.

Geralt presses a kiss into the nape of his neck, his lips a soft contrast with the stark violence that is still caught at the edges of Eskel’s mind. He shudders a little, pressing himself even closer into Geralt’s chest, listening to his heartbeat that’s still a little faster than usual, just like his own.

He has just begun to feel calm again when they can both hear a clatter from the hall downstairs. Eskel doesn’t know who’s out of bed faster, him or Geralt, but both storm through their door, swords in hand, within moments of each other. Geralt reaches the hall first, flying through the door, and coming to such an abrupt stop that Eskel almost barrels into him. Geralt’s chest is heaving, but the scent of his panic in the air has abruptly abated. Looking over his shoulder, Eskel can see why— Vesemir is sitting in front of the fire, in the process of picking up the shards of an earthenware platter on the floor, bits of jerky, cheese and bread strewn between them. He has stopped halfway through the movement, staring at them as if they are ghosts.

“Uh,” Geralt says, somewhat lamely. He realises only now that his sword arm is still raised and lowers it awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Everything alright?” Vesemir frowns at them, the mess at his feet evidently forgotten.

“Yeah, we-“ Eskel swallows, realising how broken and scratchy his voice still sounds, his lisp more pronounced than usual. “We were awake and heard the clanging and, well-“

“Well, I can assure you that I am neither a ghost nor a demon,” Vesemir says, rather matter-of-factly. Eskel winces, resists the urge to rub his chest where he can sometimes still feel the claws of the phantom that almost ripped their family apart a few years ago. “Care to join me?”

A few moments later find them all huddled in front of the fire together, sharing a late night meal courtesy of Vesemir who had fetched more food whilst they disposed of the mess on the floor. Geralt is sandwiched between Eskel and Vesemir as they huddle under blankets.

“Nightmares?” Vesemir asks, his voice full of sympathy.

“Yeah.” Eskel leans into Geralt, his cheek pillowed by Geralt’s shoulder. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Sounds quite familiar.” Vesemir sighs, and Eskel wonders what sort of phantoms have been keeping their old mentor awake this night. They’ve lived with each other for so long and yet there are spaces in Vesemir’s soul that Eskel knows he doesn’t have access to and likely never will.

He slowly finds himself relaxing, with his lover and father so close by and surrounded by warmth. Geralt is already nodding off next to him, chin slowly sinking lower and lower on his chest. Vesemir looks at Eskel over the curve of Geralt’s shoulders and smiles a little, soft and indulgent. It reminds him of when they were little – Geralt had always been the first to fall asleep between the two of them, despite insisting that he could stay awake. Eskel thinks he might finally drop off into sleep too, when they hear another two sets of footsteps descending the stairs towards the main hall. They are measured and slow, not the frantic running that had brought Geralt and Eskel down earlier.

Aiden’s face is the one that peeks around the corner first, followed by Lambert’s mussed hair and sleepy eyes. They both look haunted and Aiden has actually taken hold of Lambert’s hand, drawing him into the hall behind him. They stop short when they catch sigh of the three Witchers already seated around the fire, although they must have sensed them before even coming down the stairs.

“Nightmares?” Eskel asks, and Aiden nods. Lambert doesn’t say anything, but his expression is answer enough. The look in his eyes is the same that Eskel caught there after Coën died, and perhaps it isn’t just Aiden who is desperate for physical touch right now. “Come on here, then,” he says, patting the space on the bench next to him.

Aiden doesn’t have to be told twice, pulling Lambert along. He musters the bench with a critical eye and shakes his head, opting to seat himself on the large rug in front of the fire instead, which used to serve as the sitting place for scores of little boys once upon a time, hungry to listen to Vesemir’s stories.

Vesemir smiles at the memory and sighs. Lambert looks torn for a moment between joining his brothers and his lover.

“C’mon. It’s more comfortable on the floor anyway,” Eskel points out.

“Not for my old back,” Vesemir mumbles, but even he rises from his seat and fetches a chair that he plops down next to the fire instead. Geralt and Eskel push the bench pack so there is enough space for them all on the rug, and lie down with a sigh, Geralt resting easily against Eskel’s broad chest.

“I feel like I should be telling you all a story, like I used to,” Vesemir says, a smile playing around his lips.

“You had story nights?” Aiden asks, his eyes wide. “We were told to just be quiet as soon as we went to bed. Although Gaetan sometimes whispered stories to the younger ones. Got thrashed to it and put in a different dormitory when they found out about it though.” Lambert makes an angry little noise at that and pulls Aiden closer.

“Sometimes,” Vesemir says. “Although not often. But especially in winter, when the nights were long and cold, and the other Witchers loud enough to keep the little ones awake, we allowed them to come and sleep in front of the fire. Rennes didn’t like it, but occasionally he could be convinced. Even allowed me to choose the books.”

“What’d you read them?” Aiden want to know.

“Legends, mostly,” Vesemir shrugs. “We’ve always had compendiums on folktales and myths, and often enough the older ones would start guessing what sort of monster inspired them. Although there were a few clear favourites.”

“The one where the little girl collects the stars in her shirt,” Geralt interjects. “I’ve always liked that one. Still don’t know what sort of monster it referred to. I’ve certainly never met one that started raining coins on me.”

“Ha.” Lambert snorts. “If you ever find one like it, let me know.”

“I once had coin rained on me,” Aiden interjects, entirely unexpected. “And by a monster, no less.”

Every single one of the Wolves stares at him, and the image must be so comical that Aiden breaks out into a laugh. Lambert elbows him in the ribs, just making Aiden laugh harder.

“You should see your faces,” he wheezes. Lambert scowls, but the effect of it is rather spoiled by the little indulgent smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Eskel doubts he even has the ability to be truly mad at Aiden.

“It was a wyvern,” Aiden continues, the echo of laughter still caught in his voice. “Some traders had paid me to guard their caravan. I heard the beast coming and yelled at them to hide, but one was so intent on securing his wares that he didn’t listen to me. Wyvern caught him and picked him up, and one of his talons must’ve caught on his coin purse, because all of a sudden his coin began falling down from the sky. One hit me right in the forehead.” He points at a spot between his eyebrows and Lambert bends over him to kiss the very same spot, as if to make sure that the coin hadn’t left any lasting damage.

“Well, I retract my earlier statement,” Geralt says, as soon as the laughter has subsided. “I wish I’d ever get this lucky.”

“Coins are a lot harder than they look”, Aiden grumbles. “I had bruises all over my head and shoulders.”

“Don’t worry,” Lambert grins at him. “Your skull is far too hard for them to ever have posed a serious danger.”

“Hey,” Aiden pretends to punch him. “Careful with the insults. Or we’ll have to see just how hard _your_ head really is.”

“Oh, plenty hard, trust me,” Geralt interjects. “Melitele knows, he’s tried to crack it often enough when he was a boy, constantly falling off things.”

“Can we stop trying to dredge up stories about my childhood? If we want to talk about legendary stubbornness, we should talk about Geralt here,” Lambert defends himself.

“He’s right, you know,” Eskel adds, and Geralt’s head whips around, expression outraged at his betrayal.

“He is,” Vesemir confirms. “Although all of you were more than a handful to deal with. Frankly, it’s a wonder that I survived to this age, considering the worries you put me through.”

“Let’s not talk of death, old man.” Eskel reaches out and pats Vesemir’s knee. “You’re still here, and so are we, that’s all that counts.” There’s an echo of the nightmare caught at the back of his throat, the metallic taste of blood and loss.

“Indeed,” Geralt agrees. He shifts so that he is curled up against Eskel, their bodies still fitting together like lock and key, like they have always done. Lambert is right next to them, arm slung across Eskel’s side, Aiden draped over his chest like an oversized blanket with his limbs sprawling everywhere. Vesemir is watching them with a smile on his face, the old wolf surveying his pups, making sure they are comfortable and warm. Their conversation begins to peter out as exhaustion and tiredness beginning to catch up with them all. Lambert is the first to fall asleep, snoring softly until Aiden pokes him, causing him to roll over on his side.

Eskel is the last one of them to drop off, listening to his brothers’ breathing, their slow heartbeats a powerful melody that lulls even him back to sleep. The last thing he notices is Vesemir fetching a blanket and draping it over them.

_Warm. Safe._

_Happy._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very, very much to everyone who followed along this month, I was really overwhelmed and humbled by the reception to some of those fics. It's been a blast. Feel free to join me on [ Tumblr ](https://heartoferebor.tumblr.com/) and stay tuned for more Witcher fun! We're just getting started :>


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